


Its the End of the World as we Know It

by Bee_Potat



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Apocalypse, Corpses, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Death, Desert, First story, Gen, Gore, How Do I Tag, No Romance, Post-Apocalypse, Sad, Travel, Wholesome, Zombie Apocalypse, dunno, ill prob delete, im trying guys, prob offencive, soft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 05:34:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26966761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bee_Potat/pseuds/Bee_Potat
Summary: Just apocalypse. I dont know, read i guess.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s), Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit
Comments: 5
Kudos: 34





	1. Concept bs. Probably update

**Author's Note:**

> I listen to The Caretaker while writing and it makes me feel like I'm in the post WW1 era (makes sense because of the music) so that kinda inspired me to write war stuff. I know its plot hole and shit. I'm literally just projecting my strong thoughts and emotions onto Tommy. If the people mentioned in this fic are uncomfy, I'm sorry. I'll take it down.

The empty road as far as Tommy could see. The sun was setting in the distance, making their shadows dance behind them. Its been a month or so since everything went to shit. Stores being looted, buildings crashing down, all the fun bits of fallout. Not to mention people going on killing sprees because there wasn't anyone to stop them. And then there are two teenagers who had nothing better to do.

\---------------------------------

A week after the fallout, there were only so many people left. The internet was down, meaning Tommy was cut off from his only friends. Tubbo, who was recently so easy to just text and check in on was now hours away. Wilbur and Niki, gone, no way of contacting them. Same with everyone in America. He was fine for the first couple of days until his parents went out to check out the area. The never returned. The house was empty, his dogs being his only company. And the radio, but it never gave him much use. He could barely work with the damn thing. So, he resorted to writing in a journal. He documented what he ate and where we went. He documented his feelings and thoughts. He cried and prayed to the god, not sure if they were even there, for his friend's safety.

\--------------------------------

2 weeks in, there weren't many resources left. His dogs run off to go fend for themselves since there was only so much dog food and Tommy couldn't care for himself, let alone two other animals. So, he decided to go out. Yes, it was risky, but he'd rather try than starve. So, he put on some jeans and a zip-up hoodie then went out for the first time. The sky was a brilliant orange; the smell of smoke still thick. It was quiet. Almost peaceful. Tommy combed his hair away from his face, trying to spot anything. Empty houses. Tommy sighed, fixing his backpack and swing his bat around in his one hand. He walked down the sidewalk, his shoes hitting the concrete being the only sound. It was honestly sad. It left him wondering how his friends were doing. Were they even alive? Tommy chose to stop thinking about it, tears threatening to spill. He continued to stare at the ground until he approached the market.

He made sure he had a steady hand on his bat in case he needed to defend himself. There was nothing. Empty isles, food was strewn about the floor, and most of the canned food had been taken. He picked up any canned foods he could find and a jug of water. He then picked up a couple of hiking or camping snacks and walked out. He couldn't handle being in that place anymore. It made him too sad. He could feel the presents of something unknown.

\--------------------------------

3 weeks. Tommy continued his writing. Slowly the writing got more sad sounding, as he was losing hope. He had been staring at maps of the area and see if there was an easy way to get from his town to Brighton. Maybe he could see tubbo. Or Tubbo's corpse and say goodbye. He longed to hear his friend's voice. His laugh. Their fun banter and stories. Just the thought of never seeing him again made his stomach turn and tears fall. He had also been teaching himself how to drive. It started with short drives around the street until he felt confident enough. When he did, he knew that he had to go. He had to see if he could find anyone. So, packing a couple of backpacks full of supplies (first aid kit, food and water, a couple of shirts, and a pair of pants) and loading it into the back of his father's car, he took off. He really didn't know where he was going, but hopefully, he gets there.


	2. Market Aisles and Odd Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Description of a corpse

A month after the initial outbreak, it was pure chaos. The remaining population that wasn't infected either stayed away from the outside or took advantage and looted the stores. Tommy was safe, for now, only going out once with his father to get supplies, and almost getting shot in the process. If he had access to the internet, he would be telling all of his friends about how crazy it was. But, he couldn't. Tubbo, who was originally a couple of clicks away to talk to, was now hours away. Tommy knew that tubbo would be fine, but that didn't stop him from worrying. His parents persuaded him to start writing his feeling in a journal, instead of keeping it to himself. So he did. For a while, it helped. It helped Tommy cope with everything happening. Till he decided to not go out with his parents. They went out to get supplies, taking a backpack with them. He expected them to be home within about 2 hours. It came around 5 hours, night fell on the city.

The never returned...

Nights after their disappearance the dogs would pace the house, waiting for them. Up and down the halls, circles around ever corridor before finally getting tired and coming to lay down with Tommy. The house was empty. He was alone again. His only company is the dogs. And the old radio he found while rummaging around the house. He could barely work with the damn thing. So, he tried to teach himself to drive. It was pretty successful, other than almost swerving into the lamp post a couple of times. He was running low on resources though. He was running on his last can of beans. Most of the food he had would be unsafe to eat because they have been without refrigeration for a month. His water was running low too, the running water had stopped a week or so before. And eventually, he knew the dogs would have to go. As much as he loved them, he couldn’t keep feeding three mouths. He knew that they could fend for themselves, but he still cried at night from thinking of losing his only partners throughout this.

**September 28, Saturday**  
_Eat- no_  
_Drink- yes_

  
_Feelings-_  
_Day 10 without parental supervision. I have to go out._

It was like a prophecy. His resources were low, and he was alone. He couldn’t feed his dogs. He wished he didn't have to withhold food and water from them, but he couldn't take care of them. The dogs left, never to be seen again. Tommy dreams that they found some cool dog secret society where they live in paradise and do the conga around the pool. In reality, they probably died of dehydration, adding their corpse to the plagued streets. He ran out of canned food, so he had only drunk water the day before and this day. He needed to go out. Yes, it was probably really dangerous considering he’s 16 and doesn’t know how to defend himself, but he’d rather try than starve. So he changed out of the same pajamas he’s been wearing for the last couple of days and into some normal attire. Yellow shirt, jeans, zip-up hoodie. He grabbed a backpack for carrying food before remembering he needed a weapon of some sort. After a bit of rummaging and pushing clutter around, he found his baseball bat. Maybe those two years of baseball would actually pay off. After giving it a good few test swings, he pulled on his shoes and walked to the door. Cautiously he turned the handle, swinging open the door.  
The sky was a brilliant orange, the sun high in the sky. The smell of smoke was thick, almost suffocating. It was quiet; Almost peaceful. Tommy gently brushed the hair out of his face, the surrounding area showing no source of life. A place once so familiar, now deserted; Lifeless. Mrs. Halpins from the down the street, the nice old lady who took care of him as a young lad, was probably gone. From either sickness or just generally not enough resources to keep her alive. The kids from next door, gone. Their curiosity probably killed them. He remembered them always being adventurous. They reminded him of himself. Stupid kids with no care in the world. He walked down the concrete sidewalk, his shoes hitting the ground being the only other sound other than, ya know, wind. Tommy often wondered if it was the silence that made him think like this. Instead of thinking of the better, the silence overturned him and let him think of the negativity. He would hum to himself to drown out the thoughts of rotting corpses. His friends, the ones he loved, dead on the floor, a bullet hole through their head after an attempt to act on their cannibalistic urges. He was only snapped out of his gruesome thoughts when he was at the once packed market.

He barely recognized the place. It was like a sick liminal space. A place once filled with people, sometimes with their family, coming to get their groceries. The little kids who would run up and down the isles, only to stop when their mother offered to buy them candy for behaving. Adults who wanted to get it over with and get out, or the happy ones who didn't mind going to the cramped market. Gone. All of it wiped away and replaced by boxes and bottles thrown on the floor and the smell of decay. He would turn into an aisle expecting to find something valuable only to find the rotting corpse of someone. Their limbs heavily mutilated, sometimes not even there. Their bodies covered in maggots, and the pool of blood surrounding the body rotting, past the clot stage. He quickly went to the next aisle to get away, the memory of the body still fresh in his mind.

The next aisle was usually better, no dead body, but there were still boxes and cans. He bent down and slung his backpack down from his shoulder. He quietly unzipped it, before stuffing as many cans of food he could find into the backpack. When he went to put it back on his shoulders, it was significantly harder to carry than when he started. He continued to pace around the isles, finding granola bars and other snacks you typically take with you on hiking trips. The produce section was no use to him. It was filled with molding fruit and vegetables. The potatoes had grown “eyes” as his mother would call it, and the grapes had gone to wine. Seeing the area has suddenly given him a sense of dread like he was being watched. He needed to get out of there. He grabbed a pack of water bottles, gripping the plastic encasing as his life depended on it. He got to the entrance as quickly as possible, shoving open the door and taking a breath of fresh air. The smell of corpse and mold still lingered, but it was faint now. His arms already ached from carrying the case of waters, but it was worth it. Tommy walked home in silence, the images of death still coming back every few minutes after he thought he got over it. It made it quite hard to get home. After getting home, and putting his replenished resources away, he went up into his room, collapsing from exhaustion and passing out, sleeping until the next day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ill cry. Listening to music that simulates dementia really hits in the feels. Thinking about doing a dementia patient story.

**Author's Note:**

> Ah i dislike. Maybe I write more chapters. dunno.


End file.
